One
by New Order
Summary: A young orphaned girl finds her way in a world of confusion after beginning in an orphanage and ending up with nothing left but love. She grows up with only her friends and the people she surrounds herself with. All human. Lemons.


**Whew. Guys, it's been a crazy summer. **

** This story includes, but isn't based off, of the whole hurt/comfort type thing that goes on in Twilight. If you're looking for Edward and Jacob and Bella, don't read this, because they aren't part of the story. **

** This story began as just a way to write. I wanted to write anything, and so I wrote.**

** It began as a dream I had a couple of years ago, but I remember it vividly. The dream is only one scene in the whole story. The rest I just compiled together out of wit and boredom.**

** I'm only putting this up because my mom read four pages of it. And since she read it, I got mad. I'll be truthful, this story's sort of racy, but it's necessary to carry on the plot, you know? She keeps bringing it up in conversation, and I didn't want anyone to read it in the first place. She keeps putting me down for writing it and sort of condescendingly telling me things about it. I guess I'm putting it up because I want to see if it actually is okay, and it's not crap. I've spent so much time on this, and I didn't even want anyone to know it existed.**

** Just as a reminder… The first chapter is going to be drastically different than the rest of the chapters. Writing this chapter, I wasn't as experienced. So I just want you to keep in mind that this isn't my best work. There are no grammar mistakes or anything, it's just my style of writing that bugs me. I don't know, maybe it's just me.**

** So here you go. I'll stop talking because I'm a boring talker and my fingers hurt. So… please review at the end.**

I was sitting on the front porch of the Verona Orphanage, reading to a smaller, younger orphan that was around the age of seven. I was fourteen at the time, and I was the eldest at the orphanage. Most of the kids got snatched up and adopted, but not me. I made sure to give hell to every potential family that I could possible get my hands on. Hell was something that was very, very easy to give, no matter how perfect a family was to me. I just didn't want the constant love that some of them gave. I just didn't want it. I couldn't deal with it, and I couldn't remember a time that love had been comfortable to me. All I had ever been given was abuse, being slapped around by the orphanage-keeper woman, and it was constant. It was stable enough for me, the only stable thing that I'd ever experienced, in a sick sense.

I don't know and never will know why the inspector decided to come around on that very afternoon. If he wouldn't have, I'd still be there. But the inspector saw what was wrong. He saw the child that was playing on the roof, having climbed out the window; he saw me without shoes and my hair long, knotted and dirty, and he saw the little seven-year old boy that I was reading to, the little boy that had a huge bruise on his cheek from the impact his head had with the counter when the orphanage keeper had flown into another of her rages.

The inspector looked at what he saw, and he was not happy. He went over to me and asked how I got the cut across my arm.

"I fell and got cut on an empty beer bottle," I told the inspector. He nodded.

"Whose beer bottle was it?" he asked.

"The caretaker's," I answered truthfully. He nodded again and wrote something down. He bent down to talk to the boy beside me.

"How'd you get that prizewinner, kid?" he asked.

My little friend didn't know what a prizewinner was.

"The bruise," I explained to the child, looking at the inspector with a meaningful glance.

"I hit the counter," he told the inspector. The inspector nodded without emotion and went inside. We got the hell off that porch. The caretaker was coming.

"It's not Friday!" the orphanage-keeper yelled, her heavy footsteps thundering down the stairs. "I didn't get to clean up!"

"An adequate orphanage is always clean, and the children are always bathed, and the children are under _constant supervision_!" the inspector shouted back.

"I _am_ constantly supervisin' these kids!" the woman shouted, her double chin jiggling with the movement of her massive jaw.

"Why is there a boy on the roof, then?" the inspector asked.

The caretaker was speechless. "I - I…" she began, then ran out of the room.

A week later, the results of the inspection came in. The verdict was that the Verona Orphanage was to be shut down. All of the orphans would be dispersed in age-appropriate orphanages.

I was not excited. Sure, it could mean that I didn't have to live with the abusive orphan keeper, but it meant that I had to leave the only stability I had ever known.

The only stability that meant anything was stability that _hurt_. It hurt that pain was stable. But it was what I was used to, and I didn't want something I was familiar with to be gone. However, I knew it was going to be, and I tried to be ready.

I found myself in the DFCS office, having been driven there in a huge bus with all of the other kids in the orphanage. I pronounced it the "D-Facts" office, because that's what "DFCS" looked like. It was always really gross in there and smelled like sweat and a huge sneeze. My social worker told me not to touch any of the books or any of the toys because of the germs. I wasn't going to, anyway. There was a pit in my stomach, like a rock just sitting there, weighing me down. I felt like I was going to throw up as I sat there in that sickly-yellow plastic chair beside the desk.

My social worker was beckoned, and she went up to the desk. I tried to remember her name. She had been my social worker ever since I could remember. Iris? Pansy? Daisy? I put my chin in my hands and looked at the white industrial-tile floor, trying to remember.

She started walking towards me and she showed me the forms that the desk lady had given her, and I saw at the top my name and then my social worker's name. Penny King. I wondered why I had been thinking of flowers as her name.

"Hon, you're going to a new place," she told me. Well, duh. I couldn't exactly go back to where I had been, now could I?

She continued. "It's like a boarding school, and it's very expensive. But they are taking in orphans that excel in school."

"Um, okay," I voiced. "What's it called?"

"The Haven," Penny told me, reaching her hand towards me in a sign to tell me we were leaving.

"The Haven," I repeated, taking her hand. "Not The Haven for Bipolar Adolescents?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

It didn't work. Penny looked at me seriously. "People pay thousands for their children to go to The Haven, you know. They only choose a few orphans to go there."

"So I'll be an outcast," I realized in a tiny voice.

Penny shook her head violently as we went out the doors to her car. "No, honey! No one will have to know you're an orphan unless you want to tell them. Hop in, One," she insisted, opening her car door.

I winced at my name and got in the car. I really, really hated it. I had asked Penny what the story behind my name was, and she said she didn't know. One. The ugliest name on the history of planet Earth, the most simplest number ever... well, it could be worse. At least I wasn't Zero.

I buckled my seat belt as Penny got in the other side.

"Where are we going? Straight to The Haven?" I asked her.

Penny smiled a little. "No, One. The Haven is in Bridlington."

"Bridlington," I repeated sarcastically. "Really. Now I'm guessing it really is for rich brats."

"One, _please_," Penny sighed, putting the key into the ignition and turning it. "It's in a nice part of the United Kingdom."

I groaned. "In the United Kingdom." I assumed a faux -English accent. "And then I'll be beaten up by little British brats."

Penny fumed and put her foot on the pedal. "Listen to me, One. I'm going to tell you the truth."

"Sounds nice," I told her, my voice dripping with poison.

She gave me a look and continued. "One, you're fourteen years old."

I started to open my mouth to give her a sarcastic comment, but she shot that look at me again.

She continued. "You're fourteen, and... quite frankly, you're not going to get adopted."

"I already figured that out," I sighed as Penny turned onto a highway.

"One, stop with the sarcasm and listen."

I obliged silently.

"Now," she continued tiredly, "The Haven is somewhere that you can always stay. You can choose what you want to do with your life. You're going to start high school there, and I assure you it's very nice." She glanced at the floor of the car for a moment, reached for something and handed it to me. It was a brochure.

I opened it. It had pictures that I couldn't really see very well, hence the dark car, but I could read the writing. It had a whole bunch of boastful remarks about the place strewn all over it.

"Sounds spiffy," I lied convincingly, putting the brochure back on the floor of the car.

"Listen," Penny told me. "You have to stay at the Haven until you're a legal adult... or if someone turns up and wants to adopt you. But, One, don't get your hopes up."

"I don't want to be adopted," I snapped at Penny. "Mommy, Daddy, Brother, Sister... all telling me what I can and cannot do. At orphanages, no one really ever checks to see if you've snuck out with one of the older boys at night." I stopped myself. I'd said too much.

Penny sighed. "I hope you haven't done that, One, but you certainly won't be able to do that at the Haven."

"Do I have any other options?" I asked her in a sugary-sweet tone.

"No," she replied in the same saccharine tone that I had used.

"What if I say no?" I asked her, crossing my arms unconsciously.

"I've already signed the paperwork, One. You can't back out," Penny told me. "Now stop it."

I sighed in defeat and dozed off.

When I woke up, Penny was shaking my arm, smiling. "One," she quipped in a cheery tone, "We're at the mall. You need some clothes before you go to The Haven."

I nodded in agreement, a huge smile on my face. "Really?"

"Yeah," Penny said. "Come on!"

We went into the mall. It was weird, all of these teenagers chatting on their phones, their dates beside them. I stared at them jealously.

"What do you want?" Penny asked me.

"A pillow," I answered truthfully. I had no idea why Penny got tears in her eyes. Weirdo. All I asked for was a pillow.

First we went to some teenagers' store. I hated it, with its preppy clothing. I liked plain and simple stuff, like striped T-shirts or low-cut solid-color blouses and skinny jeans. I wasn't out to be a conformist prep.

I didn't buy anything at that store, but Penny tried to talk me into a pink hoodie.

We left after three minutes and I went to another. It was dark and played music that Penny kept making bad comments about, but I liked it. I found a few things that I liked – a few T-shirts with creepy creatures on them, a black-and-white striped long-sleeved shirt, a pair of Doc Martens and five pairs of skinny jeans, all paid for by DFCS.

Penny took me to a bedding store and bought me white sheets and a white down comforter. It was soft and I couldn't wait to sleep with its softness over me. She let me choose my pillow. I got one with feathers inside.

After we finished shopping, we took all of my stuff out to the car, and Penny brought me back into the mall. I asked her why, and she said it was a surprise.

When we were in the doors, Penny led me to a hairdresser.

I looked at her quizzically. "My hair's fine, all I have to do is wash it and comb it," I told her.

Penny shook her head and picked up a lock of my dirty hair.

"Let's see what your hair looks like when it's taken care of," she suggested and led me into the store.

The hairdresser put me in a chair and washed my hair with stuff that smelled really, really good. Then she brushed it through while the conditioner was in it so it didn't hurt, and then rinsed it. After she was done, she blow-dried it, and then led me to a mirror.

I was astounded. That's really all it took? My hair was a dark night color. It came up to my elbows, and it was in complicated and crazy curls.

"Did you put curling agent in it?" I asked the hairdresser as I pulled a curl and watched it spring back up.

"No," the hairdresser chuckled. "That's all natural, honey. You have gorgeous hair."

I smiled at my reflection. My hair had been limp with neglect only minutes before. Now it was curly and shiny and it smelled almost edible.

The hairdresser gave me some hair stuff to take with me. Penny shoved a $50 bill at the hairdresser. She took it with a wide toothy smile.

We went to the car, and I don't know where we went after that because I fell asleep. But when I woke up again, Penny had packed all of my belongings into black duffel bags, and we were on the road again, on the highway.

"Where are we going now?" I asked her.

"To a restaurant, and then a hotel."

"Why?"

"Your plane leaves tomorrow."

"Oh."

So we went to an Italian restaurant. I ordered pasta fazool. It was very yummy.

Afterward, we checked into a cheap hotel. I soaked in the tub, careful not to wet my hair, and I used the razor Penny had given me years ago to shave.

When I got out of the tub, my legs were smooth. I brushed my teeth and got dressed in my pajamas, then plopped down on one of the beds and fell asleep.

Penny woke me up. "You have ten minutes to get ready for your flight," she told me.

I got up, brushed my teeth and put on some of my new clothes. Penny hurried me out the door, then drove me to the airport.

We got out of the car. I looked at the sky. It was dark and it looked like it was going to rain.

Penny made me hold some of my bags, and she held the smallest one. I rolled my eyes at her.

We made our way into the airport. She told me goodbye after telling me who was meeting me and where, and I scowled at her.

"You know, I really, really don't want to go," I told her, "But I guess I'll never get to see you again, so... Goodbye."

She looked hurt. I turned around to face the baggage check line. I was so angry at her for making me go.

I made it through baggage check alive, fortunately. The baggage lady had found my razor, and she took it and threw it away. "You can buy another one when you get to where you're going," she told me. I sighed. "Okay."

Some security guy helped me get on the right plane. I sat down in the seat that it said on my ticket. I was pretty comfortable. There was a cute guy next to me on the plane. He looked a lot older than me, maybe in his early twenties, so I didn't flirt.

"Where to?" he asked eventually after we took off.

"Some school in Bridlington," I told him. "Real bore." I fished the brochure out of my carry-on and handed it to him.

He looked at it. "The Haven," he said. "Huh. That sounds nice."

"Sounds nice," I sighed, "but... I have a feeling it's not."

He chuckled and handed the brochure back to me. "School in general isn't very great," he told me. "I dropped out of high school. Not enough credits."

I made a sympathetic, "Oh," and then said, "Well, at least you don't still have to go anymore. I wish I could just quit."

He laughed. "Nah, you could make it through if others can. See, I was just too lazy and they kept suspending me for climbing on top of the roof."

I liked the way he said "roof", like "rough". I smiled a little at how he said it.

"So, where are you going?" I asked him.

"I'm visiting a friend," he said, "that I haven't seen for awhile." He grinned. "To tell you the truth, a friend that's pretty pissed at me."

I chuckled. "Why is he pissed at you?"

"I kicked him out of our high school band," he told me. "He was a crappy drummer."

I laughed. We held conversation the whole time. His name was Nate and he told me my name was cool, to which I had to disagree. He gave me his email address and cell phone number. I admitted to him that I didn't know if The Haven had computers, and he said that was okay, I could call him. I really did want to talk to him again. Guys are so much easier to befriend than girls. I don't know why.

We got off the plane and gave each other reluctant goodbyes. I got all my luggage and got off of the plane, and in my anger of my knowledge that I'd probably never see Nate again, I guess I forgot that I was supposed to go up to the desk and ask the worker to say my name over the intercom so I could be hooked up with a Haven worker.

I ended up wondering around for a little while until I remembered and went up to the desk. The woman there said in an English accent, "Your name is One Barrow, right?"

I nodded. The woman pointed at a lady in a dark sweater. "There's your guardian."

I thanked the airport worker and shuffled unenthusiastically over to the woman that sat in a waiting area.

"Hello, One," the woman greeted me, taking a bag from me. "My name is Professor Lakes. How are you?"

"I'm fine, ma'am. And you?" I asked in with my very best manners.

"I'm doing splendid at the moment."

We began our walk down to her car.

"Are you hungry?" she asked me as we passed an airport McDonalds.

"No," I told her. I didn't eat McDonalds, anyway.

"Alright," she sighed. "It's a long drive, One…"

"I'm sure," I assured her as we went out the doors. She led me to the parking garage, and we met a black Mercedes, which chirped at the push of an unlock button on Lakes' keys. She popped open the trunk and gestured for me to put the bags in, so I did. Then she opened the side door for me, and I sat in the passenger's side.

She got in the car on the driver's side.

"So, One… are you excited for the Haven?" she asked me as we pulled out of the parking garage.

"Oh, yes," I lied. "I think it'll be much, much better than the orphanages.

Professor Lakes looked at me with her black eyes, then pushed a lock of plain, straight brown hair behind her ear. "That's very, very good," she told me in a light and airy, aggravating tone. "You know, if you enter a situation with high hopes, good intentions and a healthy perspective, you have a twenty percent higher chance of success?"

"No, ma'am, I didn't know that," I told her as we pulled onto busy street. "That is very interesting, though."

"Yes, yes it is. Now, One, at The Haven we have many rules, but I'm not going to tell you all of them. You'll learn them as you go along. But use common sense, and you won't get into any trouble."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, exhaling in hidden frustration. I did _not_ like this lady.

"We have recreational facilities, but there are a few off-limits areas, of course, but… you'll learn of those in time."

So she was pretty much saying to learn from my mistakes. I smirked to myself. I would certainly be _making_ mistakes.

"Now, One, we have a great educational program. You will get to choose two electives. We have French, Spanish, Latin, Dutch, Mongolian and Italian languages to offer, plus skill classes. You can take painting, sculpting-"

I zoned her out and turned Nate's phone number over and over in my hand.

"Hey," I asked her, "Do you have a computer course?"

The old hag shook her head. Old _hag_.

"No, no, no. We are much too efficient to need computers. However, students may have their own computers."

What the hell did that mean? Too _efficient_ to have _computers_? What? That was like those psychologists that said stuff like "What is the nature of reality?"

"Alright," I said as the lady flipped on some music. It was classical, Mozart. I knew the tune, but I hated it. I could only ever stand Vitamin String Quartet. That was the extent of my classical-music tolerance.

"What's your favorite food?" Lakes asked me.

"I don't know," I answered. "Italian food. Anything Italian."

Lakes nodded. "I can tell the chef to make Italian food for dinner for the school in honor of your coming."

I blinked. "Wha - what? It's not going to be a celebration, is it?"

Lakes hesitated, then came up with an answer. "No, dear, nothing like that. It's just a little housewarming treat for you."

I sighed in relief. "So you're not going to make me stand up and say where I'm from and all that jazz?"

Lakes chuckled. "No, nothing like that. Nothing like that at all, I assure you."

"Good," I sighed. "Mind if I take a little nap?" I asked.

"Go ahead," the professor told me. I drifted off right then and there.

When I woke up, the car was stopping in front of the biggest school I'd ever seen in my life.


End file.
